Or, how her husband

decided that she should die from the ugliness he had dragged her into after killing off every last scrap of laughter, hope and art she had ever had.

So he bankrupted her by selling off everything they had worked for.

And then he said, “It was good enough for my mother and so it should be good enough for you.”

And when she was nearly dead, a little strand of light had come.

And because he was sad too, she could show him.

She thanked him for arriving.

More than could could ever imagine.

31 years.


She looked at her grandfather in his silver frame.

There was only one way out now.

One way.

Last year, she had had Christmas by herself.

Knowing he would make her sell the house.

He had forced her to throw away her pottery kilns, her art, everything she had ever done.

He had spent 31 years killing her spirit until all that was left was a ghost at a keyboard.



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